


Storms in Spring

by OceanofNoise



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2015 IIHF Ice Hockey World Championships, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Team Canada, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-01 14:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4023703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanofNoise/pseuds/OceanofNoise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They all circled in closer as Claude finally blinked his eyes open. Then again. And again. Staring straight at Sidney with some sort of incomprehensible look.</p><p>Oh shit, Sidney broke him.</p><p>"Mon dieu, tu es beau."</p><p>Oh shit, Sidney had actually broken him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for [this prompt](http://thesinbin.dreamwidth.org/1580.html?thread=1559852#cmt1559852) in TheSinBin.
> 
> Watching Sid and Claude together during the World Championships was honestly the sexiest thing I never knew I wanted. I had to write something for posterity's sake.
> 
> Handwave on actual amnesia symptoms/components and some minor World Championship actual events/timelines because real life is not compatible with anything fun.
> 
> Also, the comments on Claude's hair were inspired by [this tweet from Hal Gill](https://twitter.com/Skillsy75/status/574022435118444545). I don't know how Claude "did his hair" but I'm thinking it's gotta be the slicked back look.

The worst thing about injuring Claude Giroux for Sidney Crosby was not that he had incapacitated his own teammate during their very first game together or that he'd brought undue suffering upon another human being, no.

It was the fact that no one was going to believe that it was an accident.

He hadn't seen Claude coming-likewise on the other end, probably. His elbow connected with Claude's temple, and that was how they found themselves clustered in a circle around a very pale-faced, very unconscious Team Canada hockey player lying on the ice.

The tournament doctor jumped onto the rink. On his heels were two paramedics with a stretcher.

The rhythmic banging of sticks against the boards was just enough to drown out Sean Couturier's words for everyone except the intended recipient.

"What the fuck did you do, Crosby?"

 

Sidney politely declined all after-game media requests and changed out of his gear in record time to gallop his way to the medical room.

Sean and Brayden Schenn were already there. Their heads snapped back on impulse.

Brayden held his hand up. "Stay away."

Sidney instead inched in closer. "I want to see how he's doing."

Brayden and Sean both made derisive snorts.

"It was honestly an accident!"

Brayden repeated the last word spoken, but wiggled his middle and index fingers to indicate air quotes.

Sidney sighed.

"Unfortunately for you he's not dead," Sean said. "But even if he comes back with no side effects Coach doesn't want him playing the next game as a precaution."

"Fortunately for you," Brayden said under his breath.

All Flyers players were assholes. Sidney knew this coming in.

The three of them simultaneously jumped when Claude let out a soft groan and murmured unintelligibly in what sounded like French.

Sidney sighed with relief. Thank the fucking lord. However illustrious, he didn't think his career could survive the mar of attempted homicide.

"Is he okay?" Jason Spezza and Dan Hamhuis entered the room still in their half gear.

"He's in and out but he's awake," Sean said. "Not sure how he's feeling though."

As Claude's eyes began fluttering Sidney at last pushed his way to the front of the group to gain a better view, ignoring the sharp glares of Claude's Flyers teammates. Even if Claude couldn't remember the hit Sidney wanted to at least get his apology in before Claude made the same assumptions as the individuals outlined above.

Claude groaned again, murmuring a little more clearly now. As Hammer left to retrieve the doctor Claude began to speak.

"J'ai mal à la tête," was the first distinguishable sentence Sidney could understand.

The words just came tumbling out when the opportunity presented itself. "Claude, I am so sorry. I had no idea you were there."

"Eh?" They all circled in closer as Claude finally blinked his eyes open. Then again. And again. Staring straight at Sidney with some sort of incomprehensible look.

Oh shit, Sidney broke him.

"Mon dieu, tu es beau."

Oh shit, Sidney had actually broken him.

"What the fuck?" was Sean's response, mirroring everyone else's sentiments to a tee.

Claude's eyes had never strayed from Sidney. It was unnerving, and Claude's words, even in French and in his delirious state only exacerbated his feelings of discomfort.

Things were just getting started.

Claude lifted his head and regarded Sidney further. "Are you in movies or a model? You are gorgeous. Wow." He set his head back down and winced but his eyes were locked.

Sidney thought he heard Brayden's jaw drop behind him. He tried to ignore the heat rising in his face. "Uh, Claude? Are you okay?"

"Claude? Is that my name? It's not bad I guess." Then, with an air of flirtation, "But now you have to tell me yours."

He thought he heard Jason snickering in the background. Sean looked absolutely scandalized beside him and Brayden's face replicated Edvard Munch's "The Scream" so closely that the painter's estate could have filed a copyright suit.

"What's your name, handsome?"

Clearly Claude was expecting an answer. And clearly, he was absolutely serious about the fact that he didn't know it. "Uh, I'm Sidney. This is Sean, and Brayden, there's Jas-"

"Sidney, what are you to me?" Sidney could have answered that a lot of ways, most of them with expletives, before Claude continued. "Are you my chérie?"

At that point Jason did burst out with honking laughter. Sean threw his hands in the air in disbelief and pushed Sidney back. "Claude, dude. What the hell are you saying?"

Claude shifted to look at his Flyers teammate. "Is he yours?" His eyes narrowed. "Do you have a lot of money or something? Because he's way too pretty for you."

Sean smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand.

The doctor appeared just in time, shooing everyone else out of the room. Claude twisted gingerly, trying to angle himself towards the departing throng. "Sidney, I want Sidney to stay."

Sean shoved (rather unnecessarily, thank you) Sidney out door before he could even respond. He promptly pinned Sidney against the wall, looking even more angry than he did after the initial hit.

"What the fuck did you do, Crosby?!"

 

They moved Claude to a nearby hospital for overnight observation. For that Sidney was grateful. Not only would Claude receive quality medical care, he would also gain enough time to come to his senses.

Unfortunately, Sidney had the rest of Team Canada to avoid.

They were relentless with their chirps, and the story spread like wildfire throughout the national dormitories. It even showed up on some prominent news outlets worldwide.

He met up with Geno for a late breakfast the next morning. It was meant to be a reprieve from that subject and from his teammates.

"I hear about what Claude say about you," was the first thing Geno said when they sat down.

"I don't want to talk about it," Sidney snapped, turning his head down so that the brim of his cap obstructed his view of the man across from him.

"Is important to talk about," Geno insisted.

"Please, not you too," Sidney groaned, rubbing his eyes with his balled up fists. "I've gotten so much shit for this already."

"I serious." The dark look in Geno's eyes was confirmation enough. "Even though Claude teammate right now, remember, he a Flyer. Cannot trust."

Well, that was certainly a different take on things. "What, are you saying that he's trying to trick me?"

Geno shrugged. "Not sure. Never can be sure, with him."

"It didn't seem like a trick to me. I don't think Claude is that good of an actor."

Geno shrugged again. "I don't know. Doesn't make sense. You not _that_ good-looking."

Sidney set his menu down. "Excuse me?"

Geno crossed his arms over his chest and scrutinized him carefully. "You not _bad_ -looking, I guess. But not good-looking enough for Claude to think you that special."

"He said I was gorgeous," Sidney snapped, indignant.

"He never see how you eat," said Geno pointedly. "I mean, you okay, for North America. But," he pinched his fingers close to Sidney's face. "Your eyes too long and far apart. And your nose-"

Ugh. Forget his current teammates. His ones from Pittsburgh were just as bad.

 

When Claude showed up for morning practice Sidney didn't know whether to be relieved, pissed off or scared shitless.

Indecision was one of his shortcomings. He'd proceed enduring all three.

He looked good though. And by good Sidney meant in terms of his vision, his movements, his disposition, his freaking ability to remember the game of hockey. Not good like, hot or anything.

"You sure you don't want to trade roommates?" Tyler Seguin asked him for second time in as many days. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I stood in the way of-"

 _Finish that sentence and I'll do more than elbow you in the head_ , Sidney wanted to say. He settled for a more diplomatic "Shut the fuck up Segs."

He gave Sidney a toothy smile followed by an eyebrow wiggle and skated off. Fucking punk.

While still contemplating the best way to approach Claude about the subject and beginning to panic when he realized that time was running out the man in question came to a stop beside him against the boards. Claude opened his mouth, closed it, bit his lip then blurted "Uh, can we talk after practice?"

Despite the cool-down Sidney's heart was still racing. "Okay." What else could he say?

"Okay," Claude repeated. He smiled wryly, seemingly in spite of himself, then skated back to the net.

He spent the rest of the practice thinking about not thinking about what this talk could entail. Flyer or not, Sidney could admit that Claude wasn't a terrible person. A little strange (not idiosyncratic, just straight up _weird_ ) but tolerable. Didn't mean that Sidney actually liked him (and by like, he didn't mean like, _like_ like, obviously). Like Geno said, he could not be trusted completely.

With all that in mind, he met Claude by the equipment room in the arena.

"How are you feeling?" Seemed like a good way to begin discourse with your arch nemesis.

Claude nodded while stuffing his hands into his pockets, mirroring Sidney's pose. "I feel pretty good. Doctor said that I was really lucky it wasn't worse."

"That's good." Sidney nodded back. That didn't seem enthusiastic enough. "Because I'm really excited to play with you more." Maybe that was too far.

"Uh," Claude brushed his wet hair out of his eyes. "So what happened yesterday. I know you didn't do it on purpose. And, uh, the stuff I said. That people said I said. We can just forget it ever happened. I was probably on something. The doctor probably gave me some weird Czech drugs or whatever. So yeah. Let's just forget everything."

Sidney nodded. "Sure." Sounded like a plan to him.

"At least we agree on something," said Claude with a side smirk. And, well, it just felt appropriate to smile back.

"Yeah, well, sorry for hitting you in the head with my elbow."

"Sure. And, uh, sorry for hitting on you. In general."

"No problem."

They stood there, staring at each other, waiting for the other to make the next move.

Claude cleared his throat and extended his hand. "We're good?"

Sidney took it without hesitation. "We're good."

 

They had their first dinner out together as a group. It was pleasant enough, and everyone seemed to get along pretty well. Some of the younger team members made plans to go into one of those night clubs with loud music and laser light shows that Sidney never really particularly enjoyed, even at their age.

"Geezers Club going to the bar then," Brent Burns suggested. "Who's in?"

Mike Smith shook his head with a yawn. Jason shrugged as if to say "Why not?"

"I'm in," Claude said.

"You sure you should be drinking?" Sidney said without thinking. "Did the doctor say it was okay?"

"I'm fine, thanks dad," Claude snipped with a roll of his eyes. "You don't have to be Mr. Perfect Example in every part of the world. It wouldn't kill you to let loose a little."

"You in or you bailing, Crosbo?"

To be honest Sidney had planned on going back early to try to fix his sleep schedule. Unlike most of the others who'd flown in several days earlier Sidney was still jet lagged and trying to adjust to the new time zone. Staying out later than his usual bed time wasn't going to help things.

He'd like to say that it was more about team bonding than what Claude had said when he confirmed with the group that "Sure, I'm in."

 

The atmosphere was a little louder, with more drunkards laughing or getting hostile with other drunkards than Sidney preferred to have around him. It made him uncomfortable. And sometimes when he felt uncomfortable he let himself drink a little more, just to haze away that discomfort. Under normal circumstances this wouldn't be happening. But if you told him a week ago that he'd be in a bar with Brent Burns, Jason Spezza and Claude freaking Giroux? Give him another.

"Didn't peg you as a big drinker," Claude looked genuinely impressed.

Sidney shrugged, feeling a little warmed through (by the beer). "Probably a lot about me that would surprise you," He said for no other reason than to contradict Claude's general opinion of him (because what the fuck did Claude know about Sidney anyway?) and he couldn't pretend to not notice Claude's eyes widen.

"You know, this is great," Brent's words were definitely the result of excess alcohol consumption. "Seeing you guys together here is so great. Getting along and becoming friends. Never thought I'd see the day. Prague is pretty awesome, eh?" He giggled. "I made a rhyme."

"Go home Brent, you're drunk," Claude pushed Brent's draped arm off his shoulder. He took another swig of beer.

Sidney heard Jason sigh behind him. "Come on big guy." He wrestled Brent away and turned to Sidney and Claude. "I'll take him back to the hotel. Are you guys okay to get a cab back by yourselves?"

Claude raised his bottle to Jason before Sidney could form a response.

"You know," Claude said to his beer not long after Jason had managed to get Brent out the door. He paused to chuckle. "You're a pretty good-looking guy, Croz."

He hadn't followed that statement up with anything, which Sidney knew from life experience that he was expecting a response. "Uh, thanks?"

"I'm not trying to be a creep or anything. But like, the stuff I said yesterday. I, uh," Claude paused to inexplicably mouth the lip of his beer bottle. "I don't really remember what I said or how I said it. I was probably just observing facts."

"Sure?" said Sidney for lack of any other response.

"I'm not in love with you or whatever, if that was what you were thinking."

The idea was ridiculous. "Obviously not. We'd have to like each other first."

That earned a laugh, and not one of those sarcastic ones that Sidney had heard from Claude over the past few days. He felt like he'd seen a layer of Claude that'd previously been hidden from him. It shouldn't have made him feel like he'd accomplished something but for some reason it did.

Claude downed the rest of his beer in one go. "You wanna head back now?"

Sidney did the same with his, slamming the bottle down with more force than necessary. He felt his head spin a little. "Yeah, let's go."

Maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was Sidney's propensity to return compliments when he got them, or maybe it was the way Claude had slicked his hair back for the occasion. Whichever it was (probably all three), he heard himself saying without thinking in the back of the cab en route to their hotel "You know you're not a bad-looking guy yourself."

Claude was looking determinedly out the window but Sidney could see the tip of Claude's left ear turning a stark red. "Thanks," he murmured after a pause too long, kind of softly. Something unexpected turned in Sidney's stomach.

Nothing else was exchanged during the short ride. Claude had the cab fare in the driver's hands before Sidney could even dig his wallet out of his back pocket and waved off Sidney's feeble protests that they should split.

"You'll get it next time," he said with a wink and shit, there was that weird lurch in Sidney's stomach again.

 

Sidney was not drunk. He did not get drunk. Especially on nights before a game day.

"Never thought I'd see the day," Claude murmured with a shake of his head after Sidney had tripped on a step and nearly faceplanted onto the concierge door.

"I'm not drunk," Sidney insisted. "Just, uh, new shoes I'm getting used to." The glass did feel nice and cool against the palms of his hands.

He heard Claude sigh before feeling a hand rest on his bicep and guide him towards the elevators. Sidney took offence to being treated like a child but you know, if it made Claude feel better about himself then Sidney would play along. He didn't know why he was so concerned about Claude's feelings after the whole clusterfuck yesterday. What a weird twenty-four hours it had been.

"Wake up Sid." Claude gestured at the open elevator doors with one hand while leaning his weight against one side with the other.

This was starting to get embarrassing. If he made it to his room unscathed then he'd be fine.

Fate seemed to have other plans. The first step toward his very simple, very straightforward goal was a misstep. He literally tripped on the gap and his cool, hard glass door this time was a warm, lithe Claude.

"Shit, s-sorry," he stammered, still gripping at Claude to leverage his balance, vaguely aware of the fact that he had Claude pressed against the elevator wall.

He could feel the rise and fall of Claude's chest, felt the vibrations all over his body. When he involuntarily shuddered at the unexpected current of sensation he felt a hand slide up his back. The touch was the same look in Claude's eyes: electric. Their bodies pressed closer and Claude leaned forward, tilting his head-

"Are you _kidding me_?!"

Sidney bolted to the other side of the elevator on instinct. Claude smoothed down the front of his shirt with the appearance of nonchalance while Sean slipped into the elevator quickly and jabbed repeatedly at the "Close Door" button with unnecessary vigour.

"I don't even know what to do anymore," was Sean's continued diatribe. "It's like you don't even care about Flyers PR or your dignity or... common decency! Crosby, seriously, of all people?!" He turned to Sidney. "No offense."

Sidney was in too shocked of a state to do anything but nod agreeably.

"Am I missing something here?" Sean hit their floor button and the elevator lurched upward. "I thought you guys hated each other."

Claude shrugged. "When in Prague," and let the corner of his lip crook up.

Sean sighed, loudly. "You're hopeless. You both are." With that, the elevator bell dinged to indicate their arrival to the desired floor. Sean wordlessly grabbed Claude from the corner where he'd been slumped and dragged him towards the direction of his hotel room while muttering something about dogs and leashes.

"See ya tomorrow, Crosby," he yelled over his shoulder before they disappeared around the corner.

Sidney numbly made his way to his own room. He sat down on the edge of his pristinely made bed and contemplated between a cold shower, coffee, or more drink to dilute his memories of the night. He ended up taking all three.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left kudos and comments! Also apologies for the lateness. Having said that, I'm posting this now (in its less than polished state) because if I don't then I'll end up taking another few weeks and add another couple thousand words of utter nonsense to it.
> 
> (Also, to anyone who clicked on this and didn't see chapter two, I botched the original posting of it, deleted it and now I've reposted it. #n00blife)

"Give me your card key." Sean held his hand out expectantly.

Claude snorted. "I'm not drunk. I can open the freaking door by myself."

"Are you sure about that?" Sean waited until they had both successfully passed through the door and had it shut firmly in place before continuing. "You'd have to be pretty fucking shitfaced to make out with Sidney Crosby."

"We didn't make out," Claude corrected.

"But you wanted to. That's just as bad."

Claude shrugged. Nothing wrong with wanting to make out with an attractive person.

"Why him, of all people?"

It took Claude a moment to conceive the perfect response. "Dat ass."

Sean rolled his eyes and sighed. "Don't even get me started on that. I still have migraines when anyone mentions that whole incident." He then plopped himself down on the nearest couch, clearly meaning to settle in for what appeared to be a scathing lecture. "How did you even become captain? You're supposed to have our team's best interests at heart. Any logical person would be absolutely embarrassed by... any one of the things that you've done! To hit on him then to try to hook up with him? You don't see how that's all levels of wrong?"

"Why, because he's a guy?"

"Did you lose some brain cells from that hit? Because he's a Penguin, dumb ass!"

"I know he's a Penguin, genius." It was Claude's turn to roll his eyes. "I've fought him enough times to know that."

"You know that I could care less if you're into dudes or not. But there are so many other guys to pick from besides Crosby. There's... Tyler, your roommate. He's hot, right? Even Brayden. He was there when you woke up, how come you didn't hit on him instead?"

Claude snorted derisively. "Anyone who has that many tattoos is obviously overcompensating for something else. And I did see Brayden. But at that time I thought he may have been Amanda Bynes. Which would have made sense, if Sid was who I had thought he was."

"Why the hell would you remember Amanda Bynes, of all people? And why would you think that she'd be there when you woke up?" Sean's fingernails were digging against the upholstery of his seat.

"I thought I may have been someone really famous or important. Which, you know, I was actually right about." Claude flashed a charming smile.

Sean retaliated with a narrowing of his eyes. "You have one last chance to deny being attracted to Sidney fucking Crosby. Or at least show some shame about it."

"Why the fuck do you care so much anyway?" Pretty good diversion, if Claude did say so himself.

"Because hell is freezing over and you wanna go skating!" 

"Sean, relax," Claude implored his frantic teammate. "I'm not into Sidney. I was just trolling you, yeesh."

"I don't believe you." Sean crossed his arms over his chest. "I saw you two in the elevator. You were gonna go for it."

"You saw wrong. He was drunk off his ass and I was just trying to steady him."

"You know what? This is a waste of time." Sean leaped up and headed towards the door. He paused on his way out to give Claude an appraising look. "We'll talk when you exit the denial stage."

 

Claude wasn't a complete imbecile (despite what some of his recent off-season activities may have implied). He knew that he'd pay for the last few days once he was out of the insular Prague bubble. Sean had made that abundantly clear.

The thing was, despite all the evidence he had thought he'd amassed on the contrary, Sidney was not an asshole. The majority of players in the NHL were, including Sean. He'd even lump himself into that category. Sure, on the ice Sidney was one, but so was everyone else. That didn't count. He hadn't had much exposure to Sidney off the ice, but now that he'd had some he could see that Sidney was actually a decent guy.

And a fantastic hockey player. And, okay fine, handsome. Wasn't fucking fair. Kind of made him want to hate Sidney more. He had every reason to. Everyone was so excited, so grateful when Claude came over to Prague but when Sidney announced his intention to participate it was like Claude didn't exist anymore, along with his chance of gaining team captaincy, or even the top line. He should have despised every fibre of Sidney's being. But he couldn't do it, and he hated that.

He didn't doubt that he'd said the things that practically all of Team Canada (and quite a few players from other nationalities) would not stop reminding him about. Even if he didn't remember what he had said publicly he could readily admit (only to himself) that he'd at least thought those things privately. 

So freaking what? He sure as hell wasn't the only one. And he was speaking just of the team. Sidney gave practically half the group hockey boners. It was pathetic. At least Claude was original. It would probably piss Sidney off to know that someone was attracted to him for non-hockey related reasons. Mainly because his hockey-bot motherboard could not compute such alien data.

Besides, it wasn't like Claude wanted some lovey-dovey bullshit. He could just fuck Sidney to prove to himself that he could pull it off, maybe more than once to get it out of his system, then he'd be fine and ready to go back to wanting to beat the living shit out of Sidney once the NHL season was back in full swing. It didn't have to mean anything. They wouldn't even have to tell anyone. Right? Right. 

It wasn't like he'd thought about the feasibility of maintaining a long-distance relationship or anything. It wouldn't even be that long-distance anyway, they were in the same state for crying out loud. But like Claude said, he hadn't thought about it.

It probably started at the stupid Gatorade commercial. Like this instance, Sidney had confirmed his participation after Claude (stalker much?). He could have lived just fine without seeing the uninhibited brightness in Sidney's eyes or the near-blinding smile that never seemed to leave his face.

Fuck. He was thinking too much. He ought to go to bed before his asshole of a roommate got back and chirped him about his "double date".

 

Claude had asked-not begged or grovelled, thank you-coach last practice to add him to the line-up for today's game. Try as he could, Todd was unflappable. He had half the mind to skip morning practice but that would have guaranteed him a permanent spot in the press box and he hadn't flown all the way to Prague to sit on his ass all day.

During a break he caught sight of Sidney and coach having an animated debate on the other end of the rink. It appeared as though Claude was the topic of discussion, given how often coach glanced in his direction.

His suspicions were confirmed when a moment later Todd skated towards him and barked "How're you feeling, Giroux?"

"Uh, good," Claude replied back, caught off-guard.

"Good enough to play?"

"...Yeah."

"Then you're in for today's game."

What.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to push Sidney against the wall to tell him to stay the fuck out of his business or to kiss him, hard, grind their hips together, grab the swell of Sidney's ass by the handful...

Shit.

He avoided seeing or talking to Sidney until game time, which entailed standing the furthest away as he could on the same side of circle during the two-touch pre-game warm up and some strategic manoeuvring in the locker room. It only required a moderate amount of effort and if he could keep it up for, say, two weeks then he'd be home free.

"Are you mad at me?"

Sidney couldn't leave well-enough alone, could he? Never satisfied, even after the 10-0 win against Germany.

"No," Claude replied shortly, keeping his eyes downcast.

"Is it because I spoke to coach about having you play or is it... uh... something else?"

For a fleeting moment Claude considered goading Sidney on to specify what that "something else" was for no other reason but to hear him verbally acknowledge what had happened between them last night. But doing so would implicate himself as well, and he didn't fully trust himself not to disclose more than he ever ought to.

"I'm not mad at you," Claude snapped, hastily shoving the last of his gear off and storming towards the showers.

"Don't sweat it, Sid. Claude's always like that," he heard the fucking traitor Brayden say comfortingly. When the hell did they get so chummy? 

Wait, they weren't... were they? No way. Couldn't be. Could it?

 

He observed Sidney and Brayden (discreetly) during their next practice. They seemed very amicable around each other. A little too amicable. They jostled. Brayden made Sidney smile quite frequently. They even had a play-wrestling match. This was all very incriminating behaviour, and really pointed to only one conclusion.

What the fuck? How could Brayden do that to him-er, the Flyers organization?

Claude, as a key representative of said organization, decided to interrogate Brayden on this disgusting act of treason.

"You think Sid and I are-" Brayden couldn't even finish his sentence he was laughing so hard.

"How else do people go from hating each other to liking each other so fast?" Claude demanded, irritated by the harsh sound of Brayden's laughter.

"Uh, by being on the same team? To be honest, I've always admired Sid and he's a good guy." After a short pause his face split into a grin so wide it would make a Cheshire cat proud. "Holy shit."

"What?"

"You're jealous."

Claude felt his upper lip break out with sweat. "No I'm not. Jealous of what?"

Seeing Brayden's smile was even more irritating than hearing his laughter. "You think I'm going to steal Sid away from you."

"No you're not. I mean, why would I care what you do with him?"

"You do care. Sean told me about the conversation he had with you the other night, how he caught you trying to kiss Sid."

Claude's underarms began to perspire. "He's lying."

"You know," Brayden continued, almost thoughtfully (if he were capable of that). "I think that moment, when you lost your memory was probably a very honest look at your psyche. It's obvious that you're attracted to Sid, and I don't think a stupid sports rivalry or fear of a homophobic backlash should stop you from following your heart. This might be your only chance, and you should seize it because if you don't then you'll always wonder what could have been!"

Now Claude really was pissed off. "Do you even hear the utter bullshit you're spewing?"

"The truth is hard to swallow sometimes. Chew on it a little." With that, Brayden sauntered away.

Brayden was too stupid to be right, let alone insightful. What did he know about how Claude was feeling? He ought to disregard everything Brayden said and-

There was a sudden impact from behind on his shoulder. Claude cried out and spun around to face his assailant.

"That's for calling me Amanda Bynes, fuck face!"

 

Claude was doing pretty well in terms of avoiding Sidney so far. But there was really so much he could do before it became a detriment to Team Canada. And he wasn't desperate (or stupid) enough to ask coach to take him off the power play. It wasn't like asking would achieve anything. 

Unless Sidney did it. He could probably ask for rainbows to shoot out of his dick and get it.

Anyway, he'd spent a lot of time on the PP trying to position himself in manners where direct passes to Sidney were either imprudent or impossible.

Not this time though. The Czech goaltender had over-committed and Sidney was, surprise surprise, in perfect position. Claude didn't have much of a choice.

Sidney was absolutely beaming in his direction. Claude's gut did a weird, tingly flip and somewhere outside his realm of self-control he smiled back.

It felt good to beat the home team, it felt good to be putting up decent numbers on such a stacked team, it felt good to... help his teammates and see the ways they benefitted from his aid.

And, well, Claude supposed that it wasn't very fair to continue on letting Sidney believe that he'd done something to offend Claude (during the tournament at least). Even his talk with McLellan was with the best intentions. So he sought Sidney out afterwards to clear the air.

"Thanks for letting me know. I'm really happy to hear that because I've been enjoying playing with you and, like, getting to know you and the other guys off the ice. Never would have happened in the NHL in a million years. I'm really glad I came here." Sidney flashed that surgically-enhanced smile once again.

"Yeah," Claude replied absently, pressing his palm against the wall for support.

 

Canada was on a wrecking spree. Win after win after win. Some were blowouts, some were mercifully not (had to keep things interesting, right?). The gold medal was theirs to lose. And Sidney was all but guaranteed to add a few more accomplishments to his list of (over)achievements. Of course he would. Everything always seemed to work out for him.

It was getting more and more difficult to be bitter about it. Some people were lucky, some were blessed, and Sidney seemed to have a bit of both. His Russian BFF even managed to worm his way into the final.

Well, the idea of seeing Sidney combat his own Penguins teammate might prove to be worth the price of admission itself. Hell, maybe they'd give each other offsetting injuries and make Claude's work next season a little easier.

There wasn't very much time to prepare for the gold medal game, and some of his teammates had more peculiar approaches than others.

"G!" Brayden shot into the room, shutting the door behind him. He gave a congenial but quick wave to Segs, who was lying on top of the covers watching one of the few pieces of English programming on Czech cable TV.

"Uh, hey Bray, what's up?"

Brayden dropped his voice to a whisper. "Hey, so you know I was just on Yelp earlier, and I found this really cool breakfast place to try out. I'd suggest it to a bunch of the guys, but it's a really small place so I was thinking that you and I could go together. They have grilled cheese on the menu!"

This was an odd request. Whenever any of his teammates mentioned grilled cheese to him it was either a reference to his poor culinary skills or his unrefined palate. What was he trying to pull here?

"Grilled cheese with bacon!"

Fuck it, he could still die a happy man even with whatever the hell Brayden had in mind.

"What the hell kind of bacon is this?" Claude demanded the next morning as he unglued his sandwich for closer inspection.

"European, duh," Brayden snarked, then quickly recovered with a patient smile. "I mean, why don't you give it a try? It might even taste better."

When they were halfway done their food (which was surprisingly tasty), Brayden brought out that same smile again. "So it's our last full, official day in Prague."

"Yeah."

"Have you thought about what I said?"

Claude paused to look at his breakfast companion. "Bray, you say a lot of things. And the less I think about them, the better my life outlook is."

The corners of Brayden's mouth dipped ever so slightly but he seemed determined to pursue this. "I am referring specifically to what I've said about Sid and how you should go for it."

He almost choked on his orange juice.

"C'mon," Brayden continued over Claude's coughing. "I've, like, noticed how you are around him. Whenever we're in a group together, during practice or out on meals or sightseeing you're always cracking jokes and doing stuff to try to make him laugh."

"I don't do that," Claude managed to croak out after he'd recovered. He just had great comedic reflex, which was a trait of natural entertainers such as himself. Sidney just happened to have good tastes in humour, which Claude appreciated for its rarity.

"You seriously do. And I've seen you stealing glances in the shower room."

Fuck, had he? Claude was so sure he'd been subtle. "Well... uh... just scouting the competition for next season. Plus that means you've been staring at _me_ then."

"I'm going to ignore the whole unwritten rule about how the shower room is sacred and that you checking out Sid there is really freaking creepy and violates every unwritten rule and use the takeaway as evidence that you are completely and totally into Sid."

Claude said nothing.

"How long have you been feeling this way? Was it even before the tournament?"

Claude was not going to answer that.

"Well, the tournament is almost over so you should just freaking man up and just. Fucking. Ask him out already."

Claude was ignoring Brayden.

"What are you scared of? That he'll say no? You might actually be pleasantly surprised."

Claude knew he had to say something to salvage whatever dignity he had left.

"I can't fucking believe you."

Oh thank fucking God, Sean was here.

"How did you even know where we were?!" Brayden twisted his body to meet Sean's scowl with one of his own.

"Segs told me.

"Bastard," Brayden muttered, clenching his fist.

"What the hell, Bray? We both agreed we wouldn't do this. I kept my promise." Sean turned to Claude. "I didn't give you any more shit about Sidney all tournament, right?"

Come to think of it... yeah, he hadn't.

"I'm just trying to nudge him in the right direction," Brayden said quietly.

"You were trying to get him to make very poor life decisions," corrected Sean. "And Sid's basically the reason why you're always a scratch. Why on earth would you be trying to help him?"

"You gotta make the best of situations and let old grudges pass, otherwise you'll end up being a sad, cynical fuck, like..." he glared pointedly at Sean.

"You're a piece of work." Sean squeezed into the booth beside Claude and waved for a waiter.

"What are you doing?" said Claude, feeling a little dazed.

"Keeping Bray honest," Sean accepted a menu from the waiter and began scanning. "They serve grilled cheese here? Seriously? You're a snake Bray but I gotta give you props for picking such a sad restaurant for Claude's sake."

 

He'd never seen Sidney so happy in person, not when Claude'd passed him the puck for a goal, not even when Claude'd delivered his best material on the Charles Bridge. It was a little confusing but it was also beginning to make him chub. He'd better put some clothes on before his teammates began to notice.

He must have had more champagne than he'd realized because he was beginning to consider entertaining Brayden's suggestion.

Sidney was taking a gulp straight from the bottle when their eyes met. He pulled the bottle away from his lips and pressed the back of his hand against his mouth, blushing like he'd been caught. He smiled after swallowing the champagne in his cheeks, but there was something different this time. Something mischievous, not the usual wholesome smile he always had ready for the cameras. It was downright sexy.

Fuck Sean. Fuck even Brayden. He was going for it, all on his own.

He took a step forward, then another, and another until Sidney was within arm's length. Sidney watched him advance, eyes flickering briefly at Claude's strategically-placed towel, but did not make any move to depart. Claude reached for Sidney's champagne bottle. Their fingers brushed at the neck as it passed from Sidney's grasp to Claude's. Sidney's eyes were wide and dark as Claude brought the champagne to own lips. Sidney's parted slightly.

He had to get Sidney alone. And Sidney didn't protest as Claude, after setting the bottle down, took him by the bicep and guided him towards the empty corridor between the shower room and the locker room.

Sidney eased himself against the wall and let Claude crowd him against it. He stepped forward, nestling himself between Sidney's thighs and watched Sidney's mouth. He leaned in closer, slowly, giving Sidney every opportunity to run.

"Claude," Sidney moaned, high and reedy, and quickly closed the short distance between them.

He had put too much focus on whether or not Sidney would be a good lay. Consequently, he hadn't thought much about how it might be like to kiss Sidney. If Sidney fucked just half as good as he kissed then it would still probably be the best lay of Claude's life.

Sidney broke apart suddenly and buried his face against Claude's neck, and Claude was not ashamed to admit to a whimpering at the feel of Sidney's mouth against his shoulder or gasping when Sidney's equally as excited hips arched up against his.

"Sid," Claude growled. He reached up to angle Sidney's head so he could kiss his mouth again.

When they parted once more for air Sidney said breathlessly, "Come to my room tonight." His lips were scarlet and his eyes were scandalous.

Claude just nodded dumbly as his own breath caught in his throat.

Sidney smiled with that wreck of a mouth and God, if Sean didn't think there was a place for this in heaven then he'd happily skate in hell.

It was a lot easier for Claude to escape the gold medal celebration-he just left. Sidney though, he had to make up excuses, apologize and bid farewell to a number of people. Claude was never one to pay much attention to Sidney's popularity but in this instance it stood in the way of him and some deep dicking.

Finally though, they made it up to Sidney's room (which was and had been all tournament Sidney's and Sidney's alone, not that Claude was complaining about that now). He wasn't shy about taking things to the next level once they were inside. Hell, it was Sidney's idea. Claude rewarded his initiative by pushing him onto the bed and sliding a hand inside his underwear.

"Sid," Claude panted when Sidney's noises and thrusts became erratic. "What do you want?"

Claude stilled his hand after Sidney let out a choked gasp. "Can I fuck you?"

He'd let his mind run a few times with fantasies about Sidney, mostly consisting of pounding that sweet, sweet ass. But to have Sidney fill him instead?

"Yeah," Claude rolled onto his back and tugged Sidney on top of him. "Please."

 

Sex with Sidney was surprisingly tender, even more so than Claude had expected. He was a very considerate and selfless partner, smoothing out any uneasiness with soft strokes and kisses and insisting to Claude that he stop Sidney immediately if something didn't feel right. On paper the whole thing shouldn't feel right. Two captains of rival teams fucking after celebrating a win together where one of them had assisted on the other's goal? Read like all sorts of fuckery.

But Sidney was so warm and firm and solid and despite his strength of body his touch was so gentle when he wanted it to be (but still rocking his world when Claude _needed_ it to be) and his stamina even after the game was bar none. The naysayers might say that this kind of ecstasy only belonged in hell but they had no idea how much it felt every bit like heaven.

"You know," Sidney said lazily, his (clean) finger drawing absent circles along Claude's stomach. "I was wondering when you'd finally make a move."

"Then why didn't you?" Claude shot back without any sting, grinning at the faint ticklish sensations.

Sidney shrugged. "I wasn't even sure if you liked me."

To that Claude had to scowl. "Sid, are you kidding me? I hit on you practically on the first day."

"You just called me gorgeous. That doesn't necessarily mean that you like me."

If he'd already called Sidney that before then he'd need to find a new superlative to describe what he was a witness to now. And it all for him, only for him. "I still think you're gorgeous. And you're right, I still don't like you." Claude let the corner of his mouth slip up. Sidney answered back with a smile so unrestrained with happiness that he felt like an asshole for making light of the topic, even if it earned him such a fantastic reaction, and felt the need to quantify his answer. "Of course I like you. Even Braindead Brayden could see that."

Sidney sighed softly, resting his head on Claude's shoulder. "Brayden's a good guy. You're lucky to have him as a teammate."

Claude combed his hand through Sidney's dishevelled hair. "Sure, if you say so. Schenn for Malkin."

He could feel Sidney's lips form a grin against his ribcage. "What are you doing after the tournament?"

"Gotta go to Montreal, do some sponsorship stuff, then back to Ottawa."

"I wish you were coming to France with us."

Oh God, didn't Claude know it.

"How about the summer? Any plans?"

The off-season for Claude usually consisted of staying home, with a few short business or personal trips sprinkled in. He didn't like to plan too far ahead until he knew what his commitments would be.

"Why don't you come to Nova Scotia? Matt and Nate will be there. Matt usually stays at my place but since Nate just bought a new house Matt's planning on being his first summer guest. You can stay with me then." An innocent fluttering of his eyelashes was coupled by the sliding of his fingertips.

Claude shuddered, then ran his hand up Sidney's back so he could press their bodies flush together again and show Sidney how much he really liked that idea. The heat between them was beginning to rise again. "Yeah. I'll be there. And what about during the season? Are you going to come to Philadelphia?"

Sidney giggled. "Only if you visit me in Pittsburgh."

"Bien sûr, mon chérie."


End file.
